


Clarity

by goblin



Category: A Knight's Tale (2001)
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-10-28
Updated: 2001-10-28
Packaged: 2017-10-31 02:09:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/338712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goblin/pseuds/goblin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chaucer and Wat come to a realisation and fail to deal with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clarity

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters, but I love them very much and I intend no disrespect to their creators with my somewhat unorthodox interpretation.

The laughter was raucous and the faces blurred, and the alcohol was heating their throats and causing Wat and Chaucer to insult each other more wildly than ever before. As detail dissolved they were slipping into hysteria and stumbling outside without even knowing why. Holding onto one another to gain some steadiness, the momentum created by laughter and drunkenness was propelling them further away from the tent, stumbling, laughing, stumbling, stumbling, laughing. 

Finally they lurched to a halt, and there, with the noise and the revelry of the tent beckoning from five metres away and moonlight coursing through his veins, Chaucer realised Wat's hands were clasped about his neck. A moment later he discovered his own hands were round Wat's waist.

Wat, alive with uncertainty, felt curlings of fur as he clutched reflexively at the collar of Chaucer's coat. Chaucer stared at Wat's hair, bleached of its colour in the cold light.

Wat could almost see the words dying behind Chaucer's lips.

The clarity of moonlight and surrealism had dispelled the fuzzy drunkenness of before. It was as if they had left the tent and entered another world where all the rules had changed. 

Suffused by sudden fear, Chaucer released his grip on Wat's waist, leaving his hands open and frozen in midair. Wat instantly let go of the black fur collar, and stepped back. 

Chaucer remained paralysed, thoughts tumbling from brain to heart and back again. Wat's eyes were wide. He turned and fled, Chaucer standing with his hands still open and extended, an ice-statue that would melt with the rising sun. He is not real. This is not real. This did not happen. 

Chaucer only lasted a few more seconds after he saw Wat scuttle off into the night. Then he began to crack and crumble, and he hit the ground heavily, and his hands were still open and the ice behind his eyes was melting and seeping slowly from his tear ducts. 

And he could hear them laughing in the tent, he could hear them singing and drinking and shouting and his cold tears mixed with the dirt and his hands were still open, open, and Wat was running in the dark and didn't know where he was. 

And the moon was still shining, shining, and still flawlessly round as if to mock the imperfection of the world below.


End file.
